


Push The Sky Away

by coffeeandcas



Series: Tumblr Prompts [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abuse, Abusive John Winchester, Attempted Sexual Assault, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Dean is Bad at Feelings, Dreams and Nightmares, Drunk John Winchester, Dubious Consent, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Eventual Castiel/Dean Winchester, Eventual Fluff, Hurt Castiel, Hurt/Comfort, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, M/M, Masturbation, Non-Consensual Somnophilia, Protective Dean Winchester, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sexual Assault, Sexual Coercion, Slow Build, Spoilers, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-13
Updated: 2017-05-13
Packaged: 2018-10-04 06:04:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 12
Words: 18,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10269905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffeeandcas/pseuds/coffeeandcas
Summary: Set at the end of 11x23/beginning of 12x1.John Winchester has returned to the world. Brought back to life by Amara, he is eager to forge a relationship with his sons again and pick up where they left off, but something is standing in his way: the angel, Castiel.John takes an instant and violent dislike to Castiel and begins to slowly force him out of his sons' lives. But his hatred begins to mingle with fascination, and before he knows it he's drawn to the enigmatic angel and drags Cas down into a cycle of dark violence and twisted abuse.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ohcassie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ohcassie/gifts).



> Based on this Tumblr prompt: John is brought back by Amara instead of Mary, and John instantly dislikes The Angel™. He sees Cas as a monster with ulterior motives that involve endangering Dean and Sam. John begins to casually attack Cas with verbal and emotional abuse that eventually becomes physical and sexual abuse. 
> 
> Warning for violence from the outset. This one is way too complex and emotive for a one-shot, so expect multiple, angst-ridden chapters! I'm not sure where this fic will go, but it will be fun to find out. Tags will be added/edited as needed.

_‘Dad! Stop! It's Cas!’_

The gun slams down again into Castiel’s jaw and stars explode behind his eyes. He raises a hand to shove the man back, off him, away from him, but that hand is gripped and twisted so hard he both hears and feels bones crunch and break. There's so much blood in his mouth that he can't speak, can't call out to Dean for help. His head cracks back against the tiled floor, and the butt of the gun comes down again.

_‘Dad! It's Castiel, the angel! Stop!’_

Dean’s voice again, swimming from somewhere nearby, and Cas is blinking blood out of his eyes. The rage-filled hurricane above him is suddenly gone, dragged away, and Dean is at his side with a look of abject horror on his handsome face, cradling Castiel’s head and lifting him into a half-sitting position. It takes a second or two for Cas to focus, his head aching and spinning and his vision awash with red and glittering sparkles signifying a deep concussion, but when he finally blinks himself to some semblance of clarity he sees John Winchester kneeling a few feet away, wiping blood from the corner of his mouth, and almost snarling at the injured angel.

“Ain't no such thing as angels, boy. Whatever this thing is, it's playin’ you. Let me end it.”

John moves to get up and Dean hunches over Cas protectively, his arms on his friend’s shoulders and Cas’ face is barely an inch away from being pressed against his chest. He's shielding his best friend from his father, and at that moment Castiel can't ever remember being more thankful for Dean Winchester. It almost takes away the pain from his broken hand and broken nose. He's taken a royal beating and, realising through his haze who it was laying into him, couldn't bring himself to fight back. The boys would never forgive him if he hurt their father. Their father. This man, this walking tirade of fury, is John Winchester? Cas can't work it out; the last thing he knew John was dead and he had sold his soul to save his son. How is he alive? And why has he taken such a sudden, intense dislike to Castiel, who did nothing more than greet him with a slightly wary 'hello'?

“No, dad! Cas is a friend, and I won't let you hurt him. _No_!”

John is trying to drag Dean away so he can get to the angel, and Castiel retreats back towards the wall. He hears Sam’s horrified cry from the top of the stairs and jerks away as John's fingers snag his coat sleeve. Every instinct in him is telling him to fight back, to help Dean, to get up and fight, but the realisation that John Winchester is somehow standing before them pins Cas in place. He knows what an impact John has had on both boys growing up, particularly Dean, and now he's starting to see why. The man is a force to be reckoned with. Moments later, both boys are hauling their father backwards and Sam stands blocking his view of Cas, trying to reason with him as he spits and hollers insults. Dean hauls the angel to his feet and drags him down the corridor towards the bedrooms. 

“Fuck, Cas, are you OK? What the hell happened? You…”

“Dean…” Cas grips Dean’s jacket and takes a proper look at him through hazy vision. “You're…you…” And, not knowing what else to say, he grips Dean in a vice-like hug and the hunter laughs, relieved, hugging his friend back and trying to ignore the tangy scent of blood.

“I'm OK, Cas. Amara, she... OK, it's a long story, but I'm OK. You're the one who needs attention; let's get you sorted out then I'll explain everything. Me, my dad, everything.”

They walk together down the corridor, Dean’s arm around the angel’s waist, and from his position at Sam’s side, John Winchester watches their retreating backs and glares daggers at Castiel, the man who his son assaulted him to protect. He rubs his jaw again, barely withholding a snarl. If it's one thing John Winchester is good at, it's sensing trouble. 

*

“You OK?”

Dean places a bottle of beer in front of Cas, who makes a face at it and shakes his head. Dean shrugs and slides it over to join his own, eyeing Cas critically. Sam has taken John out to shop for groceries after he and Cas almost got into another altercation, and the brothers agreed it was best to separate them for a while, to give Dean and Cas some alone time together to mull over the current turn of events. John’s reaction to Cas has been anything but welcoming, and Dean can't shake the creeping feeling that his father and the angel aren't going to get along well.

“I'm fine, Dean. How are you?”

“Good. I'm…sorry about what happened. You don't know my dad the way I do. He's reactionary; a shoot-first-ask-later kind of guy. He saw you as a threat, that's all.”

“Oh, that's all.” Cas snarks at Dean in an extremely uncharacteristic manner, and the hunter raises his eyebrows in surprise. Cas is immediately contrite, and stares at his hands. He healed himself hours ago from the injuries John inflicted, but he can still feel a tingling in his hand from where the bones were broken. “I'm sorry, Dean. It must be…strange for you, having him back. It all sounds very…intense. I'm sure you don't need me complicating things. If you'd rather I leave for a while…”

“No, Cas, no way. Not an option. You're staying right here, and he can just deal. I'm just sorry you both got off to such a bad start. He's not a bad guy, he's just protective over Sammy and me. Much like you are, remember?” He smiles, but Cas huffs and doesn't respond, looking anywhere but at Dean. “I know he's difficult, Cas. Hell, I know better than anyone what a dick my dad can be.” Dean knocks back the rest of his drink. “But if you can, please, for me: just try.”

 _Try_. The word is left suspended in the air and Cas doesn't know how to feel. He is trying, he has tried since the second John walked in the door and knocked him on his ass, but does Dean mean try harder? Try something different?

He opens his mouth to ask for clarification but then the subject of their conversation walks into the map room and he snaps it shut again, sitting a little lower in his chair, feeling John’s steely gaze burn through him as he descends the stairs. Dean immediately jumps to his feet to offer his father his chair and a drink, and John accepts them both graciously, still staring at Castiel with a look the angel doesn't like one bit. It's scathing, mocking, and predacious, and it chills Cas to his core. He stares back, putting as much fire into his eyes as he can without them glowing blue, and tries to convey through one look alone that he's standing his ground. He will try wth John, absolutely, for Dean, but he expects the other man to do the same.

Oblivious to the tension - or perhaps choosing to ignore it in the hope it will fade away if not discussed - Sam and Dean busy themselves with dinner, and Cas tries to make small talk with John. Everything he asks or says is rebuffed bluntly, and it's all too clear that the boy’s father wants nothing to do with Castiel. Instead, the older man talks to his sons, asking them about their cases and the things they've done, making sure to add in little hidden jibes at Cas that only the angel seems to notice. He sits silently, lost in thought as the family sits down to dinner around him, and eventually excuses himself when their chatter and laughter becomes a little too loud and a lot too forced.

Later, when the boys have gone to bed and it's just he and John awake in the bunker, Castiel roams the halls to try and work through his feelings. Feelings, the mighty Castiel, who would have thought? One thing is certain: he doesn't like John. He’s heard more than a few things from the Winchesters about their father over the years, and in summary he thinks the guy is a prick. He's sure without a doubt that John loves his sons, but he hasn't done right by them when they were children, no matter how hard he tried. And now he wants to slot seamlessly back into their lives as though nothing has ever happened, and of course Dean and Sam are delighted to see him. Dean especially, considering his father sacrificed himself to save him: the ultimate act of love. But with John back…where does that leave Cas? Is there room for four?

He's so lost in his own world that he doesn't hear the squeak of boots behind him or smell the cloying aroma of old whiskey until it's too late.

Rough hands grip the back of his coat and slam him, forcefully, into the wall. His nose breaks on impact and he feels warm blood dripping down into his mouth. His first impulse is to fight, to struggle, to put this man this human out of action but then Dean’s word comes back to him. _Try_. He fills in the blanks himself: try not to fight, Castiel. Try to listen. Try. He stills, panting through the blood, and listens.

John’s voice, gruff and so similar to Dean’s hisses in his ear and Cas cringed at his stale alcoholic breath.

“I know who you are. I know _what_ you are, and I know what you've done. I know everything. You've put my sons through _hell_ , and you're lucky they've lived to tell the tale, or you'd be in pieces by now.” John grips Castiel’s wrist and twists it up behind his back, wringing a groan out of the angel. “Sam’s soft enough to fall for any ‘poor little me’ act, but Dean’s smarter than that. I've seen the way he keeps you at arms length; he knows just as well as I do that you're trouble.” Another twist to his wrist makes Cas cry out; John’s other hand clamps over his mouth and he presses their bodies flush together, his firm chest to Castiel’s back and Cas is crushed against the wall. “Not a sound you little skank.” Skank is a word unfamiliar to Castiel, but he’s in no doubt that it means something derogatory. He tries to hold in a wince of pain as John pulls harder on his arm. “Angel of the Lord my ass. You're pathetic, weak, and you're using my boys to fit some agenda of yours, just like you have done so many times before. I know everything, everything you've done. How you've lied to them, manipulated them, betrayed them, how you could have helped them so many times but _you_ _didn't_. Don't think I can't see right through you. You're scum,” John’s words are like venom, seeping into Castiel’s skin and coursing through him, activating the fears he's kept strapped down for so long. “And believe me, I'm going to be watching your every move. You even think about hurting my boys or doing anything to endanger them and it will be the last thing you do.”

He draws Cas back and slams him, hard, against the wall and the breath is knocked violently from the angel. He collapses to his knees, gasping and choking and John stands over him, watching as his ire dissipates into a serene calmness that is somehow more chilling than his anger.

In the older Winchester’s eyes, Castiel is nothing. A failure, disgraced from Heaven, and John wants him as far away from his family as possible. But even John can't deny how magnetic the angel is; he can see why Sam and Dean have been deceived so many times, have submitted to him so often, and why they keep him around. As Cas tries to catch his breath, John’s hand extends out towards the back of the angel’s head. He wants to wrap his fingers into Castiel’s hair, drag him back and throw him down and hurt him. But even in his inebriated, fury-driven state he knows what it would do to his boys, to see him hurt their so-called friend. With some effort, he withdraws his hand and turns to stalk away. He will have to bide his time; wait until the perfect moment when his boys trust him again, implicitly, more than this weak-willed, snivelling angel, and then he can strike.

Castiel’s days in Sam and Dean’s lives are numbered. 


	2. Chapter 2

Castiel has no right, no right whatsoever to be possessive over Sam and Dean. He knows that. They are independent men who have Just been reunited with their long-lost father, a father who gave himself up for Dean despite any previous shortcomings. A father they both idolise. But at the same time, he can't stop the waves of hurt that crash over him when they wander back into the bunker a few days later, covered in blood and dirt and filth, but laughing and quite obviously happy - and John has his hand on Dean’s shoulder and is whispering something into his eldest son’s ear, something which they both grin heartily at. If Castiel were human, he would have no doubt in his mind about the primary emotion coursing through him: jealousy. As it is, he's not sure exactly where to place it or how to react to it, so he just says nothing and smiles tightly in welcome. As they descend the stairs, the boys wave hello to Cas, who lifts his hand to wave back but the look in John’s eyes halts his movement entirely. It's nothing short of…predatory. Cas swallows, turns away and listens as they unpack their things and joke around about things that had happened on the hunt.

“How was it, Sam?” He asks, bringing three bottles of beer over to the table where the Winchesters are sitting down and debating what to have for dinner.

“It was great fun,” Sam grins, accepting the bottle from Cas and taking a long, grateful sip. Dean grins and takes his as well, but John simply stares at Castiel and refuses to take his drink. Cas frowns, and John screeches his chair away from the table and heads towards the kitchen, the sound of the fridge door opening and closing and bottles clinking reaching the angel’s sensitive ears.

“Yeah, it's great to be ganking stuff with dad again, ain't it?” Dean grins and clinks his bottle against his father’s as John returns to the table.

“It's good to be back, son. The three of us, together again. The Winchester army.”

John smiles at his sons, looking back and forth between them with a glow of admiration. They really have turned into fine young men, men he's definitely proud of. He knew they would turn out well, and congratulates himself for his part in their upbringing. He knows Dean helped a lot with raising Sam, but Dean is just the soldier he wanted him to be. Moulded him into. Knew he would end up being. He's strong, smart, enthusiastic beyond belief, and hilariously funny. He seems to only have two weaknesses that John can see: his brother, Sammy, which is a given, and that goddamn angel. And John just cannot figure that out. Sure, Cas saved Dean, yanked him out of Hell and that was all fine and dandy. But since then? Damn creature has been nothing but trouble, and John neither likes nor trusts him an inch. He thinks he's got his point across though: the look on Castiel’s face when he announced that he and his boys were heading off for a few days sniffing out a vamps nest said it all: the angel, who thought he was part of the family, was feeling jilted. And John can work with jilted.

He studies Castiel carefully as the angel takes his seat, hands clasped loosely around the bottle of beer he isn't drinking, frowning, with eyes fixed firmly on the table in front of him. He's handsome - or rather, his vessel is handsome. But his quiet demeanour, which the boys take as stoic introversion, John sees as arrogance. Like he's too good to interact with them properly, that it's barely worth his while to do so. He hangs around his boys - Dean in particular - like a bad smell, and clearly has less than innocent interests in his eldest son. John can feel his gaze darkening as he watches the angel stare at his hands, and quickly wipes his expression before his sons can notice. They're laughing, cracking jokes, and Castiel glances up at them and attempts to ask something about their hunt. But before the words are even out of his mouth, Dean has stood up, stretched, and announces he's going for a shower. Sam stands too, scooping up his kit bag and jostling Dean as they make their way down the corridor, and John and Castiel are left alone.

Cas looks like he's about to get up and leave too, clearly uncomfortable with being left alone with the boys’ father, but John beats him to it. He gets up, walks behind the angel and lowers both his large hands onto Castiel’s shoulders, feeling the angel tense instantly beneath him. He's heard from Dean and Sam about how powerful the celestial being is, but he's not worried. If Cas harmed a hair on his head, the boys would never forgive him. It's almost like a free pass…

“Jealous of our little family outing, are you boy?” John’s tone is conversational, and he digs his fingers painfully into the flesh of Castiel’s shoulders, feeling him arch and hiss beneath him. “You've barely said a word. Mind you, you don't have an awful lot to say at the best of times. For all your power and holier-than-thou bullshit, you angels sure are boring motherfuckers.” He leans down, fingers still tight on Cas’ shoulders, to hiss into his ear. “I'm still wondering what my sons see in you.”

“Dean…your sons and I, we've been through much together.” Cas responds, his words tight through clenched teeth. He could use his grace to throw John across the room, expel him from his personal space, but what would Sam and Dean say if he caused a ruckus? Dean asked him to _try_. “I wouldn't expect you to understand.”

“No?” John smirks in satisfaction as the angel cringes again; he's dug in deeper with his thumbs to the tender muscles at the top of Castiel’s spine. “Why’s that? I'm too stupid?” A gentle twist of one hand and Cas exhales slowly through his teeth, fighting the pain. He can hear Sam and Dean just down the corridor, laughing at something. “Not smart enough to understand it when an angel speaks?”

“My voice, my true voice, it would deafen you.” Cas grunts out, reaching up now to grip John’s fingers to try and dislodge him. “And my visage would burn out your eyes. Although right now, those two things seem inherently attractive prospects…”

John steps forward, hard, shoving Castiel’s chair violently up against the table and the edge cuts into Cas’ ribs. He can't withhold a cry at this, and one of John’s hands slides deliberately from his shoulder to his neck. The way his palm and fingers play over Cas skin before tightening is almost a caress, and the angel shivers, pinned. John’s mouth presses close to Castiel’s earn, his stubble grazing the tender skin, and Cas has to bite down a bitter retort and clench his fists to stop himself reacting. _Think of Sam and Dean, think of your friends, he's their father and he wouldn't really hurt you, not badly, try harder, try…_

“Is that a threat, boy?” John growls, his tone nothing short of menacing now, and it sends a jolt down the angel’s spine. “Because if it is, mark me, I will end you. And those boys you love so much, my sons who you idolise, the last thing you'll see of them is their disgust as I put you down for threatening their father. You hear me? As I _put_ _you_ _down_ like the vermin you are.”

“Get off me,” Castiel is nearing the end of his patience. His anger is coiling tightly inside him, and he knows it isn't long before he loses control over it. The sounds of the Winchester’s laughter is moving closer, any minute now and they'll be rounding the corner and if they see him attacking their father… “Take your hands off me. _Now_.”

He feels electric blue flood his eyes, his grace pulsing with fury, but John just laughs in his ear, low and rumbling, and straightens up just as Dean ambles in, bare-footed and drying his hair with a towel with a stupid grin on his face that Cas knows can be attributed to alcohol.


	3. Chapter 3

Cas sleeps, but doesn't dream. Not normally. He doesn't sleep because he has to, he does it because either he’s bored or he just feels like doing whatever Dean and Sam are doing at the same time. Wandering the halls of the bunker like a ghoul doesn't seem right, not every night. And angel or not, there's only so many books he can read before his eyes get tired.

Tonight, he sleeps. He sleeps because he needs the reprieve from going over and over the incident with John in the map room, because the amount of overanalysing is slowly starting to drive him mad. So he sleeps, hoping his subconscious will help him work through it. And tonight, for the first time since his human experience, he dreams.

_He's walking alone through the corridors of the bunker, which go on and on and no matter how many corners he turns he can't find his way out. His shouts for the Winchesters echo and bounce off the walls; he's completely alone._

_He turns a sharp corner, then another, feeling a chill sweep through him and comes to a halt as a presence in his peripheral vision becomes pronounced. The bunker is dark, tainted with something he cannot see, cannot hear, but can taste and smell. His breath clouds in front of him, and he looks down to see his body - Jimmy’s vessel, which he takes such good care of and adores behind anything - splattered with blood and emaciated. He lifts both hands in front of him in wonder, a hollow feeling of dread taking hold, and sees cracked nails and bruised knuckles. Behind him, someone trails cold fingers down his spine._

“John…”

The name leaves Cas’ lips as a quiet whine, as he fights against the man in his dreams, but outside his door that man chooses that exact moment to walk past. Cas never closes his door, not fully, always leaving it ajar so that he can hear everything going on in the bunker, and tonight that's his biggest mistake.

John pauses at the sound of his name, and nudges the door open just a little with a finger. Cas is shirtless, spread out on the bed with the sheets tangled around his legs, a sure sign he's been tossing and turning, and a distressed frown graces his handsome face. He doesn't look peaceful; as John watches, his fingers clench and flex, and he gasps out a shaky breath, neck arching as he twists away from an invisible force. Intrigued, and unable to ignore the pulse of want that thrums through his body, John eases into the room and closes the door silently behind him. The angel shifts again but doesn't wake.

_A cool hand comes to close around his neck, pulling him back against the body behind him; hot, wet breath sears his skin as the man behind him, John Winchester, hisses threats and obscenities into his ear and Cas shivers. He's graceless, powerless, and his weak body will be of no use to defend himself; he can feel his energy ebb away as each second passes. The grip on his throat tightens, the fingers digging in brutally._

“John…please, don't,” The words leave Castiel’s lips in a whisper and John arches an eyebrow in a similar expression to one Dean pulls when something has his rapt attention. Castiel is dreaming, dreaming about _him,_ and his interest is piqued. He moves closer in the dim room, shadows dancing on the walls cast from the light of the digital clock and the screen of Castiel’s crappy cell phone. He stops at the edge of the bed, enjoying the power that comes with standing over someone so utterly defenceless, and feels his body respond as Castiel arches in his sleep and tosses his head towards him on the pillow. His eyes are screwed shut, brow furrowed, and lips parted as he pants, clearly afraid of something in his dreams, but he almost looks… _aroused_ , John’s mind supplies, and at that moment it's as though an invisible force takes over his body. The ache between his thighs becomes more pronounced, and he can resist the temptation to reach down and draw the sheets back off Castiel, leaving him in only his boxer-briefs, exposed to John’s predatory gaze.

His body is fine, John thinks dismissively. Toned, tanned, irritatingly free of scars and defects. No wonder this creature has drawn the attention of his elder son; Dean’s attraction to men has been known to him since his son was a teen, and it's something he turns a blind eye to. He doesn't accept it, doesn't want to think of it, and as long as Dean keeps it out of John’s way, he can fuck whoever he likes.

Except this angel. Anyone on earth, except Castiel.

Castiel belongs to John. And John is going to break him.

_He's pushed forwards into a wall, the cold tiles searing his cheek, and Cas tries to fight. Tries to shove the man off him, but the more he attempts to twist away, the former he's held in place. A hand covers his mouth, then his vision darkens; the air around him is so cold he feels like he's suffocating, and nearby someone is laughing._

John braces himself on the wall with one hand, his breathing deep and heavy as he watches Cas toss and turn, face twisted in distress, vulnerable and exposed beneath him. Damn this angel and the body he's possessing, damn them both to hell. If Castiel insists on forcing his way into the Winchesters’ lives, at least he should make himself useful in some way…

John reaches down and unbuttons his jeans, pushing his boxers down and exposing his throbbing length. Ever since the incident out in the hallway, when Cas was pressed up against the wall before him, immobile and pliant, John hasn't been able to get him out of his mind. How such a strong force of nature succumbed to him so easily. How simple it was to force Castiel under his control, how his eyes flashed with fury while his body did as John wanted. Fuck, John is close already, stroking himself with a firm, deliberate pace designed to bring him to climax quickly and forcefully. Cas gasps below him, hands coming up to the pillow either side of his face and fingers twisting in the sheets. His neck is so exposed, the skin bare and tempting in the glow from the clock. John’s hand moves on its own volition, his fingertips brushing Cas’ jaw then lower, wrapping gently around his throats with intent. John squeezes just a little, enough to exert pressure but not enough to wake the sleeping angel. Cas stills, panting, but his eyes remain closed. He's at John’s mercy, and that sends a pulse of ecstasy through the man.

_He can't breathe. He's choking, drowning, his lungs burning and filling with fluid - blood - and the voice behind him laughs. Then a familiar laugh joins in, somewhere off to the side: Dean. Dean…_

“Dean…” Cas whispers, and John’s grip tightens reflexively. How _dare_ the angel speak his son’s name? Anger fuel his arousal and a low groan spills from his lips. He’s right on the edge, almost there, a primal need to control the celestial being below him fulfilled as Cas arches against his grip but doesn't put up much of a fight - almost defying his grip but not quite. John twists his hand at the tip of his dripping erection, so _close,_ and grunts, low and loud: the sound finally draws Cas from his dreams into reality.

Castiel’s eyes open, wide and vacant with shock, and for a second he doesn't move, frozen and still in dreamland, fighting his nightmare. As he focuses on the man above him, and his hands come up to scrabble at John’s forearm, the expression of raw surprise and the way his chest heaves with each breath is what pushes John over the edge. He comes, all over his own hand while the other presses down on Castiel’s throat with more force until the angel whines and his blue eyes glaze over, which only serves to send another pulse of pleasure through John at the angel’s clear submission. He gives himself a last, regretful stroke then raises his slick hand to Cas’ face. Locking eyes with the angel in the semi-dark, he moves with languid slowness and lets a feral grin spread across his face as Cas puts up no resistance; he runs his come-slick thumb across the angel’s lips, not missing the jolt of horror that shakes the angel, then leans down to whisper in Cas’ ear with that same predatory grin only deepening at the shift in Castiel’s breath.

“You're mine, boy.”

A moment later, the door opens and closes, and Cas is left motionless on the bed, pinned in place by shock, as tears soak his cheeks.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heed the tags, folks.

“We need to talk.”

Cas snarls, almost animalistic, crowding up close to John and shoving him back into a wall with barely-simmering fury. The older man allows himself to be pushed, and when he's sandwiched between the corridor wall and the angel, he smiles. Cas’ forearm is on his chest, just shy of his throat, and Cas is up in his face barely an inch away, eyes glittering with contempt. Sam and Dean are in the kitchen down the hall, laughing about something, and Cas has spent the entire day avoiding everyone because he can't fucking process what John did to him. His knowledge of human sexual interaction is…limited, but he knows enough to know that _that_ wasn't fucking right. His skin has been crawling all day and he feels _dirty_ in a way he didn't know was possible. Used. _Ab_ used.

“About what, pretty boy?”

John’s grin widens, and Castiel growls, low in his throat.

“About what you _did_.” The angel shifts his arm against John’s throat, exerting pressure and feeling a strange thrill when John winces.

“And what exactly did I _do_ , boy?” John wheezes, but his smile doesn't falter. He's determined to win this round, like he won last night. He's dead set on beating Castiel down, no matter what it takes. “What exactly do you _think_ I did?”

“You know exactly what you fucking did. I woke up and you…you were…” Cas cuts himself off, feeling a very uncharacteristic blush stain his cheeks, and a bitter taste rises in his mouth. John’s behaviour was disgusting, and he feels tarnished just thinking about it. But John doesn't look abashed; in fact, his grin widens into a leer and Cas moves back a fraction, unnerved.

“I don't know what on earth you're talking about, boy. I was in my room all night, sleeping like a baby.” John pushes forward against Cas’ arm, his lips brushing the light stubble of the angel’s jaw, and Cas recoils in alarm, releasing him abruptly. “Were you dreaming about me?”

“What? No! You know exactly-”

“You were, weren't you?”

John surges forward, into Cas’ space, rapidly backing the angel up across the corridor and against the opposite wall. He raises an arm and places it close to Castiel’s head on the tiled wall, leaning in close, breathing in the scent of spooked angel. Why Castiel doesn't just shove him away, use his angelic strength to defend himself John can't figure out, but he fucking _lives_ for the power kick it gives him. Cas’ blue eyes are practically sparking with fury but something else has crept in, just on the fringes. Something that looks a lot like doubt. John leans in close, so close that his lips brush the shell of Castiel’s ear.

“Tell me, angel. What were you dreaming about?”

John is smiling, looking triumphant, pleased with his easy manipulation of the angel. Sleep and dreams are new to Cas, so it's no surprise that he can convince him so easily that the incident in the bedroom was nothing more than subconscious conjuring. John has been half-hard in his jeans all day, frequently picturing the look of shock on Cas’ face and the way his throat moved between his fingers. He hasn't expected to get his hands on the angel so soon, but it's a welcome surprise. He watches closely as Cas, wild-eyed, tries to regulate his breathing and look anywhere but directly at John. John, who senses weakness, and lowers his hand from the wall to rest on Cas’ collarbone, fingers curling gently on his neck, a small reminder of the night before. Swallowing hard around a lump in his throat, Cas pushes against the other man’s body perfunctorily, stilling in shock as his hip brushes the firm line of a diamond-hard cock and John huffs out a laugh against his neck.

“So eager, angel.”

Their faces are less than an inch apart, chests flush, and John pushes Cas bodily against the wall, grinding his pelvis against him with pure intent and holding him sill, listening as the angel’s breath hitches. Cas’ hands are in fists at his side and his eyes have fallen closed, head turned away from John in distaste. The movement has opened his neck up, exposing his skin, and John lets a feral smile cross his face before lowering his mouth to Cas and pressing his lips right over the pulse point. He sucks gently, then harder, relishing the whimper from the angel and the way he arches against him, pushing himself away from the wall in a feeble escape attempt.

“You want it bad, angel.” John attacks with his mouth again, sucking a deep mark just under Cas’ jaw, reaching up to loosen the blue tie and yank his shirt collar open roughly, repeating the movement and leaving a trail of deep, red, wet hickies on Cas’ neck. The movement seems to jolt Cas from whatever trance he was in, and he scrabbles at John’s hips with ragged movements, breathing hard, eyes dilated with fear. To John, it looks like desire even though he knows it's far from it - but Cas is too fun to play with.

“Get off me.”

“No.” John only pushes harder against Cas, making the angel gasp. “Deny it all you want, pretty thing, but you want this. You need this. You _crave_ this.”

His slim wrists are grabbed, hauled up and pinned to the wall either side of his face, John’s body against him, pinning him, drawing harsh breaths from his lips and a whine of fear from his throat. A fleeting thought crosses Castiel’s mind: _This isn't what Dean meant by ‘try’…_ But then John’s mouth is at his neck again, nipping and sucking, his breath wet and searing, and Cas arches away from him with a low cry of unhappiness. Doubt is tugging at him in every sense; had he really been dreaming…? No, surely not; he vividly remembers cleaning the…evidence of John’s act from his lips, shaking and cold in the bathroom, staring at himself in the mirror with a kind of numb agony. He _remembers_ it. It wasn't a dream, it _wasn't._ Was it…?

John moves against him again and Cas tenses, every muscle wound tight and he's caught between going pliant and still and praying for it to be over, and throwing John against the wall and _hurting_ him. His skin is crawling with every touch, the muscles of his stomach tightening, and his eyes burn. John’s body is firm and solid, an oppressive presence he can't escape from, and the heady scent of whiskey is filling his senses, he's drowning in it, and beneath that the rich musk of the man himself. Again, John pushes his hips against Cas, his cock sliding into the V of Cas’ pelvis as though it belongs there, and a low moan of desire leaves the older man’s lips. _No…_

“So good for me, angel.” John hisses in his ear, his fingers digging deep into Cas’ wrists, enough to bruise. “So pliant. You need this, you _ache_ for this. I can see it in your face, feel it in your body. You _want_ for this.”

“No…” Cas tries to twist away, tries to turn his head, why is John so _strong,_ and why can't he just do what every instinct is screaming for and _end this man…_ Teeth bite at his neck again and a whine slips through his clenched teeth as he feels a pulse of heat, white-hot and electric, throb between his legs. “ _No!”_

He shoves John harshly, harder than before, and the man stumbles back just enough for Cas to free himself and stagger away. They're both panting, cheeks flushed and pupils dilated, but for very different reasons. For one terrifying second, Cas thinks John is going to lunge for him again, but then the man seems to reign himself in and licks his lips slowly, with deliberation. Cas watches, pinned in place, heart hammering in his ears. The _look_ John is giving him feels like an x-ray straight through his clothes, dropping slowly from his face to his groin, and a slow smile tugs at his lips until John is outwardly leering at him. Cas swallows and steps back, against the wall, hands coming involuntarily to his groin, trying to cover himself. He doesn't want this. Doesn't want John or his advances, and his body - Jimmy’s body - is betraying him in a way that makes him despise it and want to shed it and find another vessel. From down the hall, so close and yet not close enough to bear witness, he hears Dean bark out a laugh. Cas shivers. Dean…what would Dean think of all this? Of him? Would he be angry with Cas for pushing his father away, for not trying hard enough? But Cas doesn't _want_ John like this, doesn't _like_ the hands on his body. Surely Dean would understand him, support him, confront John for him. Surely…

John’s voice is low when he speaks, barely above a purr, and it sends a shiver borne of fear and unwanted, despised desire down Castiel’s spine.

“I wonder what you'll dream about tonight, angel.”

And Cas shivers, cold, left standing alone as John walks away to join his sons, the bunker soon filling with the sounds of their laughter.


	5. Chapter 5

Cas doesn't want to go to sleep. He's afraid to. He's afraid of what might happen, that John might come to him again either in his dreams or in reality. He's afraid he won't be able to distinguish between the two. He's _afraid_ , and the fact itself makes bitter bile rise in his throat. He's an _angel of the Lord_. He should not know fear such as this.

But he does. He does, and it's unsettling because he's allowing himself to feel it. Allowing himself to be intimidated by John to this degree; it's his own making, his fault. He sits on the edge of his bed with his head in his hands, half-dressed and trying to calm the tremors in his hands. He had wandered the halls of the bunker like a phantom all evening, avoiding the boys and their father, waiting for them all to retire to bed. It took forever; they were drinking and playing cards, and Cas rejected every attempt Sam and Dean made to get him to join them; in the end, the brothers gave up and Cas heard Dean mutter something that sounded very suspiciously like ‘fucking moody angels’, and he had turned the colour of a stoplight, fighting back tears and a bitter retaliation.

If John comes to him tonight, Cas will be strong. He’ll fight his corner, hold his own, he _won't_ let anything happen against his will. He _won't._

A noise at the door jerks his head up, and his worst fears are confirmed when John walks in almost casually, turning and closing the door with a slow deliberation as though he owns the place. He turns to Cas, smiling genially, and Cas stands up and opens his mouth to tell the man where the fuck to go. He feels exposed, chest bared and belt unbuckled, and wishes he hadn't started to undress at all, but it's too late for regrets. Before he can voice his thoughts however, John is on him, taking advantage of Cas’ distraction and crashing their mouths together.

“Waiting for me, were you, angel?” John murmurs against Cas’ lips, biting down hard on the bottom one and Cas tastes copper. He grips John’s shirt, ready to throw him off, to retaliate, to _fight_ , but a hand snakes up to his throat and squeezes, cutting off his air supply and making him gasp and choke in panic. The other hand slides down Castiel’s bare back, feather-light at first, then digging in with nails and fingertips and it _hurts_. “I like that. I like the thought of you undressing for me, thinking about me, hoping I'd come.” A nasty smile tugs John’s lips. “ _Desperate_ for me to come.”

Out of nowhere, John’s foot comes to the back of Cas’ calf and up, hooking behind his knee and sending him spilling backwards to land on the bed, and John is on top of him in seconds.

“ _No!”_

Cas manages somehow to twist away, dragging himself across the bed on his stomach, and has the bizarre notion that John is letting him go. That suspicion is confirmed when John deftly hooks his fingers under the waistband of Cas’ pants and pulls them down with one harsh jerk, down to mid-thigh, leaving him more exposed than ever in thin cotton boxer-briefs - bright orange with bees on them, and he suddenly feels awash with humiliation; he never thought anyone would see him like this and he just thought they were _fun_ \- and Cas lets out a low cry of dismay and stills, afraid.

“John, don't do this. Stop, please.”

John moves above him, bracing himself on his hands planted either side of Castiel’s hips, then leans down and kisses the arch of Cas’ spine low down, just above the waistband of his boxers. It's soft, almost tender, and it makes Cas shudder. Then John’s hand is on him, gripping one of his ass cheeks and kneading, massaging, and then he feels teeth rake down his spine non-too-gently. He's paralysed, lying spread out on his stomach and half-propped up on his elbows with John straddling his thighs, and his heart is beating wildly in his chest.

“That's it, angel. Beg for me. I like that.”

With a couple of firm tugs, Cas’ pants are dragged off and tossed away, leaving him only in his underwear, shivering beneath the man, unable to move and unable to work out why.

_Fight him, Castiel._

_Shove him off! You could kill him easily! What are you doing?!_

_Say something! Do something!_

_Don't let this happen!_

‘…But if you can, please, for me: just try…’

This isn't what Dean meant, Cas is sure. Or he's almost sure. Using force to get John away from him would result no doubt in injuries to the older man, and Cas can't bring himself to do it. Dean would never forgive him; over the last few days he's seen the way his friend looks at his father, in blatant idolisation and adoration, and it turns Cas’ stomach. If he fights John off, Dean will ask why and naturally John will lie. He might say Cas attacked him, threatened him, made advances towards _him_ , and Dean will believe him because they're family. They're blood. Cas is an outsider, and despite the things they've shared and their time together, it's not to be forgotten that he's betrayed the Winchesters in the past more than once. He hasn't forgotten that fact; it nudges him on a daily basis and makes him feel such crushing guilt, so why would Dean? Dean will choose to believe his father over Cas, and if that happened, if Cas ever accused John of attempting to harm him and John rebuffed the fact, he would be asked to leave again. And these boys and their bunker are the closest thing he has to a family and a home. He has nowhere else to go, nobody to take him in, and he couldn't deal with being _alone_. He can't lose all the things he loves, not when keeping them is so simple. Not if he just does what he's told and behaves. Not if he lets it all happen…

John senses the exact moment when Cas resigns. It's in the lowering of his head so his forehead touches the sheets. It's in the relaxing of the muscles in his shoulders and the tensing of his thighs beneath John. It's in the sigh that leaves his lips and the way his breath hitches in his throat. And it's in the way he turns his head just a little, just so John can catch a glimmer of blue, blue eyes, and his whisper which sounds like a scream in the silent room.

“Be gentle. Please.” The angel’s voice catches a little; he's biting back tears. “I haven't done this before.”

“Oh, don't worry that pretty head of yours.” John’s hands come down on Cas’ shoulders, working the muscles firmly and digging his thumbs in the knots either side of his spine. He laps at the nape of Cas’ neck, then reaches down with one hand to unbutton his jeans and the sound of the zipper makes Cas tremble. “I won't do anything you're not already _desperate_ for.”

*

Castiel’s entire body aches. His thighs are sore from being shoved apart, his forearms bruised from being held down, his throat aching from being choked…he stops taking stock of where it hurts, because every nerve ending feels like it's on fire, and it's a miserable feeling. He’s lying curled on his side facing the wall as John dresses, and he doesn't dare heal himself until the man has left, because he knows John will mock it as a sign of weakness or, more likely, inflict more injuries. The sound of a belt clinking sends a jolt through him, and he hears John snuffle out a pleased laugh.

It hadn't been gentle. It had been rough and nasty and humiliating, and Cas had barely held back tears. The side of his head is throbbing painfully, the hair matted with blood, and he chances raising a shaking hand to see if it's still wet. Halfway through, he had panicked and tried to get away with a wild cry of fear; John had retaliated by gripping a handful of Cas’ hair and slamming his head into the wall so hard the angel saw stars. Cas hadn't fought back again after that.

“Cover yourself up,” John throws a blanket over him, and Cas pulls it around him gratefully. “You're filthy.”

“I…”

“I didn't ask you to speak.”

John strides forward and fists a hand in Cas’ hair, jerking him up off the bed with a snarl. Cas mewls in abject pain, disgusted as the sheets beneath him shift, wet, and he clings to the thin blanket in protection. His skin crawls and he shivers, not from the cold.

“Now listen, and listen very closely.” John kneels down by the bed in front of Cas, very close, still keeping a firm grip on the angel’s hair, and leans in so their break mingles. “I want you to stay the hell away from my boys. Understand? You so much as _look_ at them in a way I dislike and you'll regret it. You speak when they speak to you, you do anything they ask of you dutifully, but make no mistake Castiel. You're a _monster._ Inhuman. And you don't deserve their time, let alone the warped affection they seem to have built up for you. Are you _listening to me?_ ”

Castiel’s eyes have glazed over as the shock of the last few hours begins to set in, and John shakes him roughly.

“You put one toe out of line, angel, and I will _end you_. How would it feel to die at the end of that blade of yours, hmm?” As Cas focuses on him and his lips part in shock, John smirks nastily. “Oh boy, you should really take better care of your things. I'll look after it for now; you won't be needing it.”

“That's not…it isn't for humans,” Cas murmurs, barely audible. “You must return it-”

“I _must_ do nothing.” John hisses in his face, spittle flying through his teeth and landing on Cas’ skin. He tries in vain to pull away, but John’s hold is too tight. “You command nothing and nobody, _monster_. You do as I tell you. And that blade is mine.” John leans in even closer, lips pressing to Castiel’s ear. “Mark me, boy. Your era of lording it over my boys has ended. I'm the only person they need in their lives. You're a spare part, a background prop, and you'll act like one. Or you'll never see my sons again.”

He releases Cas, who falls back to the soiled bed with a lump of fear in his throat. The idea of never seeing Dean’s smiling freckled face and enchanting green eyes again fills him with dread, a creeping chill sweeping through his body, and he knows at that moment he will do anything John asks if it prevents him from losing Dean.

He spent so long trying to be with the handsome hunter, trying to be what he needs and what he wants. He can't let it slip away now.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm on a roll with this one at the moment :)

John comes to Castiel again the following night. And the night after that. And so it goes on, a full week passing and Castiel becoming more withdrawn and unhappy as each day goes by, and Sam and Dean failing to notice the changes in the angel. John has stepped up his ‘doting father’ act in a blatant attempt to create distance between Cas and the boys, and the problem is that it's working. Cas finds he never has a moment alone with either of them, at least not for long enough to start a conversation because John has developed an innate ability to materialise at his side whenever Cas gets too close.

It isn't just the distance. John makes frequent oh-so-funny jokes about Cas, ranging from his clothing to the way he talks to his past transgressions and anything the man thinks he can use as a weapon. And Dean _laughs_. Laughs at Cas, then nudges him in a way that is probably meant to be jesting but really comes across to the angel as mocking. He never thought Dean would mock him. And sometimes he sees a glint in his friend’s eyes whenever John makes a particularly scathing remark, a glint that suggests he doesn't really find it funny and that he's only laughing because John is his dad and he feels like he _should._ At those times, Cas tries to communicate with Dean with a look alone, tries to convey his hurt and his solidarity that it's all right _not_ to laugh because John’s asshole behaviour is going too far. But inevitably Dean will stand up, clap Cas on the shoulder, and leave the room and Cas doesn't feel able to follow him.

Every night plays out the same. John closes the door quietly behind him and stands over Cas, undressing. The angel is normally lying in bed facing the wall, clothed in as many layers as he can, curling in on himself with every muscle rigid and tense. He resists, doesn't move easily or capitulate right away, but he doesn't fight back. His skin bruises and tears under teeth and fingernails. His hair is twisted and sometimes pulled out. He's pressed facedown into the bed, almost suffocating as John holds him still in a pile of pillows. He saves his tears for when he's alone.

But being alone is the worst. He jumps at every noise. Sleep evades him, and if it ever comes he wakes up crying out with his throat tight, drenched in sweat. He sleeps in three layers of clothing and covers himself with two blankets - a barrier between himself and the rest of the world. And as a result, he's constantly using his grace to cool himself down and it's exhausting. Not to mention healing various injures every night. He's tired in every way possible. He knows this _thing_ with John can't continue much longer.

It's breaking him apart.

*

“Cas? What the hell is that?”

Surprise makes Castiel’s reaction sluggish, and he doesn't pull his sleeve down fast enough. _Shit, fuck, damn._ A purple bruise encircles his wrist, deepening in colour where fingers have pressed in hard, and Sam is gripping his upper arm and staring in horror.

“It's nothing, Sam.”

He jerks away, panic coming out as irritation, and tugs his sleeve down. _Shit._ He thought he'd got them all, healed every mark. He supposes it was only a matter of time before he messed up and forgot one, but he's so _stupid_. So careless. The boys _can't_ _know_ , he reminds himself. He’ll never see them again if they find out, John will make sure of that. He needs to be more careful, much more careful.

“Cas-”

“It's fine, Sam. I…must have walked into something. It's nothing. Please, don't concern yourself.”

The excuse is weak, even to his own ears, but he turns and walks away before his friend can question him or comment any further.

Sam stares after him, worry creasing his brow and his hand still outstretched to the angel’s retreating back.

*

“Have you spoken to Cas lately?”

“Uh, yeah, like an hour ago. Why?” Dean has his feet up on the table, and flips a page of his magazine. Sam sits down opposite him, clutching a warm mug of coffee in both hands, and waits for Dean to look up before answering.

“Don't you think he seems…different?”

“Different how?”

“I'm not sure. Just…quieter. Not himself.” Sam pauses. “And he had this bruise…”

“I've said it once, I'll say it again.” Dean flips another page. “Guy is a weird, dorky little dude. Who knows what goes on in his head? I'm sure he's fine. He's Cas. He's always fine.”

“Maybe.” A short silence stretches between them. “So have you talked to him yet?”

“You just asked me that.”

“No. I mean _talked_ to him yet.”

“‘Bout what?” Dean’s attempt at offhand doesn't fool Sam. His brows have knit slightly, and his shoulders tense, and he's looking through his magazine instead of at it. He knows exactly what Sam means. Knows that he's referring to a late night chat the brothers had shared one night over a bottle of whiskey, after their father and their angel had retired early to bed. It had been a familiar talk, one that rears its head every so often, but this time there had been genuine pining in Dean’s murmured words, a sadness that made Sam’s heart hurt. His brother had it bad for the angel. He's surprised Cas hasn't noticed, if he's honest with himself. All the signs are all too plain.

“You know what. Dean-”

“Is this ‘never mentioning it again’? Jesus, Sammy. I was drunk and rambling, it didn't mean anything. And it was weeks ago. Forget it.”

“It would mean something to Cas.” Sam says quietly, trying to catch Dean’s gaze. “Especially if he feels-”

“Can it, Sammy.”

“But Dean-”

“Dean!” John’s voice cuts through the bunker like a knife, and Sam jolts in surprise. “Are you busy? I need your help with one of the cars.”

“Sure thing, dad!” Dean is up and out of his chair in seconds, crossing the bunker and vanishing, leaving Sam to stare at his hands in silence.

*

Cas cleans up slowly. He's managed to stumble into a pair of Dean’s old PJ pants, and has stripped the soiled sheets from the bed, hiding them in the wardrobe with the intent on washing them later, when everyone else is out. Every muscle aches. John had been slow tonight, taken his time, but it had still been rough and painful, and Cas has been left hurting both in body and spirit. He had lain curled on the bed, barely holding back tears of sadness, for almost an hour before scraping together the energy to hail himself up and tend to himself and the sheets.

He straightens up, catches his own eye in the wall mirror and stares for a second. He looks awful. Blue eyes dull and haunted, hair lank and his neck is peppered with bruises and bites. His chest is the same, with a particularly vicious bite to his left pec, and his thighs are worse. His forearms ache, already turning black and blue, and his lips are swollen and crusted with dried blood from his own teeth cutting into them. He looks _wrecked_. He stares for a long moment, conjuring up the mental image of his body in its normal state, and tries to summon the energy to send a wave of grace through himself to heal the visible marks. The invisible ones will have to wait. He can ignore those anyway; as long as nobody knows, he can pretend it's all OK.

Just as he takes a breath, a sound behind him makes him stiffen and freeze; blind panic sweeps over like a blanket, suffocating him. The door has been pushed open, and in the doorway stands Sam, holding a book with his hand on the knob, and he's staring at Cas with an expression of utter horror on his handsome features. Castiel, frozen in place with shock and humiliation, can do nothing but close his eyes in pain as Sam takes it all in: the bruises, the teeth marks, the scratches, the _evidence_ of what's happened. Of what he's done. Of what he's been too weak to say no to.

He hangs his head, overcome with shame, and Sam lets out a strangled cry.

“Jesus Christ! Cas!”


	7. Chapter 7

“Cas?”

The angel doesn't respond, just hangs his head in shame. Sam steps forward into the room, stowing his book on the desk and closing the door quietly behind him. He doesn't miss the jolt of Cas’ shoulders at the sound of it clicking shut, but the horror gripping him stops him from feeling anything but numb. Castiel looks _terrible_. Like he's been violently attacked, and it can only be recent. Within the last few hours. Cas definitely didn’t have those marks on his neck at dinner, or the bruises round his mouth. And unless Sam is very much mistaken, the angel went straight to his bedroom after their meal was finished and hasn't left since…

“Cas?”

Castiel closes his eyes. The muscles in his wrists tighten as he clenches his fists, and his skin takes on an ethereal glow as the first pulse of grace ricochets through him - he's about to try and heal his injuries, and for a reason he can't pinpoint Sam lunges forward and grabs his forearm to stop him. The angel jerks away, backing into the corner of the room with agitated, shaky movements, his blue eyes wild and glittering. He brings his hands up to put some distance between him and Sam, and Sam notices teeth marks on the heel of his right hand. As though he's tried to push someone's face away from him, and been bitten in retaliation…

Sam doesn't move forward any more, cautious of scaring Cas even further. Instead, he sits down on the edge of the bed, noting that the sheets have been stripped off, and tries to calm his own heart rate. His palms are sweating and he's damp under his arm pits. All his senses are firing, telling him that something is terribly wrong; the sight of Cas, injured, combined with the chilling silence that's fallen between them and the _smell_ … the air is thick with a scent Sam recognises instantly as the musky residue of sex. His stomach turns as his mind ricochets through the possibilities. The only people in the bunker are him, Cas, Dean, and John. Dean would _never_ hurt Cas, not if his life depended on it, and certainly not in a sexual way. Sam doesn't need to think twice about that. So that means the only person remaining in the equation is John, but his _father…_ hurting their _best friend_? It's despicable, deplorable, _impossible_. John would _never…_

But as Cas covers his face and shakes, Sam thinks back. John has never accepted Cas, not from the word go. He's been sarcastic, degrading, arrogant, and more than once Sam has witnessed his father staring at the angel with barely-concealed malevolence. But to actually _hurt_ Cas, to lay a hand on him…it's unthinkable. But it's the only possible conclusion, and Sam feels a rolling wave of nausea as the implications of it hit home. If he's right, then John isn't just violent and controlling. He's a rapist. And if he is… well, he will be out of the Winchester boys’ lives in a heartbeat. Sam’s relationship with his father has always been more strained. They've disagreed, butted heads, been at each other's throats, and he's the polar opposite to Dean’s idolisation and blind obedience. And it's always come back to Sam feeling like something was _off_ about the intensity in which his dad carried out his hunts. The residual anger coiling beneath the surface. The drinking. The harsh words. The way he wields an iron-clad control over Dean, moulding him into his perfect little soldier since they were children. John is known to be hard, calculating, and Sam knows he's done plenty of things in his time that none of them know of. That it would horrify them to learn of. And as much as he hopes violence against their best friend isn't on that list, he's running fast out of options.

“Cas…” Sam’s voice cracks and he tries again. “Cas, come sit down with me.” He pats the bed next to him nervously, and Cas hesitates before obeying. The hunter shrugs off his flannel overshirt and drapes it over Castiel’s shoulders; the angel clings to it, pulling it tight around him like a security blanket.

“Cas…who…”

“Don't tell Dean.”

“Wait…what?”

“You can't tell Dean. You can't tell anyone, please Sam.” Cas finally meets his eyes and he's desperate. His eyes are dark and wounded, and hold a residual terror that Sam suspects has something to do with his injuries, but a lot to do with being found out. He hesitates, then reaches between them and takes Castiel’s hand. They both tense a little, and Cas drops his hand to where their fingers touch. It's more intimate than they usually are - Sam recalls the first time they hugged after dancing around it for months. It has been stilted and awkward as hell, and they had pulled away almost immediately. So this small touch is a big step for both of them.

“Promise me, Sam, please. I implore you.” Cas raises his eyes again and Sam fidgets under the scrutiny. The look is reminiscent of the way Cas used to look at Dean, with an intensity that makes Sam feel pinned in place, like the angel is looking straight through him, into his soul. Is this how Dean feels? Every time Cas looks at him?

“Cas, what the hell are you saying? I _have_ to tell Dean about this. You have to let us help you-”

“ _No_!” Cas’ hands come up to grip Sam by the elbows, making him jolt in shock. “You can't, Sam you _have_ to promise me. I'll never…he’ll never let me see Dean again. Or you. You _can't_ tell anyone. It's _fine_ , everything's fine, I'm dealing with it all, I just-”

“Cas.” Sam’s turn to grip Cas by the arms. “Someone is hurting you. Badly, by the looks of things. You have to let me help you, you have to let me in, man. What's going on? Who-” Sam cuts himself off, choking a little. He doesn't want to know the answer to his next question. “Who did this to you?”

Cas shakes his head, draws in a deep, shaky breath, pulls away and stands up. This time, Sam doesn't stop him as he closes his eyes, and for a second the room glows blue. When Sam looks back at the angel, the marks on his neck and face are gone, and Cas has shrugged off Sam’s flannel in favour of pulling a t-shirt of his own over his head. In the two-second glimpse he gets of the angel’s torso, Sam sees flawless skin devoid of scratches and bites, the bruises faded into nonexistence. Cas’ jaw is set, his shoulders rigid, and an internal wall has clearly come down. He rakes a hand through his hair, breathes in deeply, then turns to face Sam who is sitting immobile on the bed, one hand still stretched out towards the angel.

“I'm sorry if I made you worry, Sam.” His voice is cool and soft, back to his usual gravelly tone, and holds none of the desperation it had a moment before. “It was nothing. Really. Just…an altercation I had with someone, and it looked worse than it was. Please, don't think on it.” Cas’ voice cracks on the last word and he clears his throat, looking at Sam with a hopeful glint to his eyes.

“If you think I'm buying that, Cas-”

“Sam.” This time, the angel’s tone leaves absolutely no room for argument. It's icy steel, and Cas’ eyes match it. “I said I'm fine. I don't want to talk any more, please leave me to go to bed. It's late.”

“But you don't need to sleep, Cas-”

“Sam!”

A note of distress now, and Sam knows if he pushes he could get Cas to break, to talk to him again, but he can't do that to the angel. He's had an awful night, and retreating to form a plan of attack seems to be the ideal choice right now. Sam stands, wary, and backs towards the door. Dean, he needs to talk to Dean…

“I'm sorry. I didn't mean to intrude. I'll just…” he gestures to the door and Cas just stares, all cold fury in his faceand hard lines in his body. “If you need anything…”

“I know where your room is. Goodnight, Sam.” Cas backs Sam out into the corridor, and just before the door closes in his face, desperation flashes across the angel’s face. Sam swears he hears him choke out a sob as he retreats to the library, in search of Dean.


	8. Chapter 8

Sam knocks twice on Dean’s door before shoving it open. And it’s as he feared: empty. The bunker is empty, aside from him and Cas. John and Dean have gone somewhere, and at this hour it’s more than likely to be a bar, to drink and hustle pool and so John can lay praise at Dean’s feet and draw him in closer to him. It's been happening more and more often over the last week or so, John taking Dean off for ‘bonding’ time, and Dean coming back all starry eyed and singing his father’s praises. Sam can't even get away with rolling his eyes now - Dean just snaps that he doesn't understand their father and that he should try harder. Every second Dean spends with John is too long in Sam’s eyes, after what he’s just seen. He needs to talk to his brother. Now.

Dean picks up on the third ring, and Sam can hear music and laughter in the background, the clacking of balls on a pool table, and John’s low rumbling voice telling him to tell whoever it is to call back later. The bar sounds busy, and that could be both a blessing and a curse. 

“Sammy! You coming to join us? Bring Cas, he could use a little excitement, dude looks like shit!”

_You have no idea…_

“Dean, I think you should come home. I really need to talk to you about something.”

“What? Sam, I can barely hear you. We’re a couple miles down the road, grab one of the cars and come see us.”

“Dean-“

“Glad you’re coming, Sammy, see you soon!” Dean, a little drunk, rings off and Sam lands his forehead against the tiled wall. He figures he has two choices. Stay up and wait for his father and brother to stumble in drunk in a few hours and try having a serious conversation with an inebriated Dean, or he can go find the bar and drag his brother out of it. That would mean leaving Cas alone, but the angel clearly doesn’t want to talk about anything, so maybe leaving him to sleep wouldn’t be a bad thing. 

 Sam flips a coin. Then grabs his jacket and a set of car keys, and heads out.

 *

  _…you’ll never see my sons again…_

Cas is panicking. He's curled under two layers of blankets, fists clenched and arms crossed over his own chest in a poor attempt at hugging himself, and he's shivering, cold. His eyes are burning and his jaw is clenched so tightly he's in danger of cracking his back molars.

_…you’ll never see my sons again…_

He should have been more careful. Should have hidden it better. Should never have let Sam come in. Should never have stayed…

_…you’ll never see my sons again…_

He quickly pulses grace through his body again, just to be sure he's healed every single injury. He can't risk anyone seeing him hurt again; slipping up once was stupid. Twice is unforgivable. _Three_ times…

_…you’ll never see my sons again…_

He supposes the only positive glimmer is that it was Sam who walked in on him, and not Dean. If it had been Dean, one of two things would have happened. Either he would be out on his ass already, for causing disruption between the family, or Dean would be at John’s throat and again, Cas would take the blame for causing chaos. At least he was able to hopefully put Sam off for a while, to give himself time to figure out a plan. 

He hears the sound of Sam rattling about and then, a minute later, a car engine starting up. He doesn't know where he's going, and he's not sure whether he should care or not. Where's Dean? In the bunker? He was earlier, and Cas can think of no reason why he would leave. So he deduces that Sam isn't running straight to his brother, which means he has time. Has time to fix things, talk to Sam or intervene and talk to _Dean_ , make them see that it was just a misunderstanding and that nothing untoward is going on behind closed doors. Perhaps he can make something up; he's good at lying now. Good at making up stories, so all he really needs is a convincing one. What could it be? Perhaps he could say he was messing around, practicing spells, and accidentally summoned something unpleasant that he had to fight off. Would that work? What about the warding around the bunker, what would that let in? Precious little, he’s sure. So there's a giant hole in that story already. 

He could wipe Sam’s memory…

No. Never. He couldn't violate his friend that way, not after the whole ‘breaking down the wall and letting Lucifer roam free’ fiasco. Next idea. 

But he comes up almost blank. Nothing believable seems to fit. Could he say that he and John had a physical altercation, and that it was no more than that? Would John be willing to lie as well? But then Sam saw the bite marks and scratches, marks that definitely didn't come from a punch up. 

Cas is so screwed. 

Maybe he should leave. Leave the Winchesters to it, and strike out on his own. He isn't exactly sure where he would go; no wings, no home. All he has to his name is that ratty old coat, and his memories of Sam and Dean. The best thing to ever happen to him. He _can't_ be the reason for breaking up their family; they only just got John back, they would never forgive him if they were separated again. Although it sends a dagger of pain through his heart, the idea of leaving starts to grow and take root; he slowly talks himself into it.

He turns to lie on his back, still cold and shaking, and stares up into the dark trying to make a plan. Tomorrow, early, he can go and wake Dean. Tell him the angels need him, and that he's wanted back in Heaven for a while. That should be convincing enough. And Sam, he would…he isn't quite sure. Can he leave without saying goodbye? It would be the simplest way out of things, surely. But also the most cowardly. Maybe sleep will bring some inspiration. 

As for John, well... the man will be glad to see the back of him. And he can't deny he will feel the same. 

He's in pain. Physical pain emanating from his heart. The idea of leaving Dean hurts him more than anything he has ever endured. He loves the hunter with all he has, and has always dreamed that one day Dean will love him back. But now, any possibility of that has died a painful death at the hands of John Winchester. Ever if Dean _does_  harbour well-hidden feelings for him, there's no way he will ever act on them now. Cas is damaged goods. John’s sloppy seconds. The broken angel. 

It hurts. It all hurts, but it's the right thing to do. He just wants the best for his family, and this time it means leaving them to their lives, and not intervening again. 

*

Sam pulls the car up outside the bar, next to Baby, and kills the engine. He glances at the sleek black car and feels a stab of irritation - Dean acquiesced the keys to John the second his father snapped his fingers, and Sam _knows_ how much his brother loves the car. Watching him give up his most treasured possession on demand shows how deep John’s claws go. He doesn't move for a moment, listening to the laughter and music coming from inside, and watching a group of guys grapple good-naturedly on their way out. He doesn't know how to approach this. The drive hasn't provided the clarity he had hoped for. He needs to get his brother alone, away from John, and he needs to do it now while the anger and concern is still vibrating through him, giving him the extra surge of confidence he knows he's going to need if it gets difficult with his father. He can only imagine John’s reaction if Sam accuses him of raping Castiel…

Rape. The word makes his stomach tighten. The thought of such a violent and destructive act being forced onto the kind, caring, _fierce_ angel makes Sam bite back nausea. Castiel’s experience with sex is so limited, and that only makes it even more heartbreaking, to know the angel has been subjected to nothing but pain and betrayal when he's been intimate with another person. Sam can't imagine Cas ever getting past this, but then again the angel has overcome more traumatic things in the past and come out swinging. Maybe he can face this head-on as well, and come out the other side. If he stands any chance of that, he needs Sam and Dean in his corner. 

Sam gets out of the car and heads for the bar. He finds his father and brother right away, huddled in a corner with more than a handful of empty beer bottles clustered in front of them. Dean’s eyes are bloodshot and hazy, but he's still coherent enough to greet Sam cheerfully and clap him on the back. John raises his bottle but says nothing; something in his eyes sets Sam on edge. It's almost like his father knows Sam has come for a reason. Sam shuffles into the booth next to Dean, and engages in strained chatter for almost ten minutes before tugging at Dean’s shoulder and telling him they need to talk. In private. Dean shrugs, excuses them both, and John watches them go with a sour expression that could only be described as predatory. It makes Sam’s skin tingle, and he wonders how often Cas has been on the receiving end of that glare. 

"What is it, Sammy?” Dean leans against the wall outside the bar and pulls his jacket around him. Dean smells of whiskey, beer, and nicotine and Sam scrunches his nose. Dean _never_ smokes, not unless his dad is around. Ugh, another strike against John. The wind has a bite to it, but Sam barely notices. He's trying to settle on a way to break this to Dean, and eventually comes up with nothing. Quick and painful it is. 

“Someone has hurt Cas.” 

Dean's eyes widen and he pushes away from the wall, expression darkening. “What? Who?”

Sam talks quickly, telling him about finding Cas in such a state, the angel’s refusal to accept help, and that he thinks it's someone close to home who has inflicted pain on Dean’s angel. By the time he's finished, his brother’s fingers are twitching and his jaw is clenched tight. He's ready for a fight, ready to defend Cas and destroy whoever harmed him. Sam is both relieved and afraid of how that energy will be directed when he reveals the last piece of his puzzle. 

“Who, Sam? Who did this shit to Cas?” _Who do I need to kill?_

“Dean… you need to understand, I don't want to believe it. I don't want to even consider it. But it's the only conclusion I can come to, and Cas-”

“ _Who_ , Sam?” Dean is up in his face now, and Sam backs away, unnerved. He knows what his brother can be like when flooded with that ice-cold anger, and he swallows around a lump in his throat.

He stalls for as long as he can then, without seeing the shadow that looms behind him and casts over his brother’s tense face, he answers quietly. 

“I think it's dad. I think… I think dad raped Cas.”


	9. Chapter 9

“What?”

Dean’s voice is barely above a whisper, and he's turned a ghostly ashen shade. His green eyes seem to have taken on a new depth, and Sam recognises it instantly. It's the same look they held years ago, when Castiel was trapped in the ring of holy fire and confessed to working with Crowley. It's betrayal. But for a moment, Sam isn't sure who it's aimed at. At Cas, or himself, for the accusation. Or at their father. Sam hopes fervently that it's the latter. He's cold and clammy all over, and it has little to do with the weather.

A sound behind him makes him almost jump out of his skin, then a heavy hand lands on his shoulder and he's spun around to stare into his father’s stony gaze. John reels of alcohol, and his eyes are bloodshot and flinty, and his lip curls in a vicious sneer. Sam’s instinct is to back away, but the grip John has on his shoulder keeps him pinned in place. He hears Dean’s weak ‘Dad…’ from behind him, but John’s gaze doesn't falter.

“I knew it,” he hisses, pulling Sam closer. “I knew that angel would try and turn you against me.” He drags Sam so close that their noses are almost touching, and his lips brush the shell of his son’s ear. Sam shivers, repulsed, and more sure than ever that it's John who has attacked Castiel. “I just didn't think you'd be stupid enough to let him.”

“Dad…” Dean, stronger this time, and Sam senses his brother in his peripheral vision. “Let Sammy go.”

“Dean,” John shifts his attention to his older son, and for a second his eyes reflect the same betrayal Sam had seen in his brother’s face just a moment ago. “You can't think…”

“I said, let Sammy go.” Dean, who has seemed pleasantly inebriated when they left the bar, is the picture of controlled fury now, gaze like ice and fists clenched at his side. “Dad. Now.”

John releases Sam, who stumbles back and clasps a hand to his shoulder. His father’s grip hadn't been tight enough to bruise, but it feels like his fingers are digging in. Dean doesn't move when their father lurches towards him, and Sam silently praises his brother’s courage.

“I don't care for your tone, boy. That angel has got to you, too. I warned you about him-”

“Dad.” Dean’s hand comes out to press against John’s chest, and the older man stops in his tracks. “Did you hurt Cas?”

“Imma pretend I didn't hear that, _boy._ ” John is snarling now, and his hand comes up quicker than should be possible in his drunken state to grip Dean’s wrist. “You think I'd _touch_ that filthy angel-”

“Dad.” Dean’s anger seems to be igniting through his veins like wildfire, giving him a strength he hasn't shown in his father's presence for as long as Sam can remember. He takes a step closer, into John’s personal space, and when he speaks it's a snarl. “Answer me. What did you do to Castiel?”

John’s other hand fists in the front of Dean’s leather jacket, and suddenly jerks Dean sideways and slams him back into the wall, knocking the breath from him, and Sammy starts forward to help his brother. Dean’s quick shake of his head stops him in his tracks, and suddenly he doesn't feel cold anymore; heat flushes his whole body followed by a sweeping numbness. Dean is holding John’s gaze and the older man leans in to whisper something that Sam doesn't catch. The words are whipped away by the wind.

But by the widening of Dean’s eyes, the sudden rigidity in his body, and the way he violently shoves John away from him, Sam knows it's something dreadful. Words of confirmation. Words that, in that one moment, shatter the relationship between Dean and his father beyond repair. His brother is panting with shock, bracing himself against the wall with one hand, the other outstretched to ward off his father who is gazing at him like a tiger scenting it's prey.

“I need to talk to Cas,” Dean’s voice is choked, loaded with emotion, and he doesn't wait for a response from either of them before pushing past Sam and heading for the Impala, leaving Sam and John alone. They've never been comfortable in each other’s presence, not truly. But now, Sam can't bear it. He can't stand to be so close to a man he loved, adored, a man who has turned into an unrecognisable monster. He doesn't wait for John’s anger, or for his threats.

He turns and heads after his brother, numb finger fumbling for the keys, and John stares after him as the first flakes of snow start to fall from the heavy skies.

*

Dean tries to keep his mind blank and focused as he drives. He's shaking so badly that he's worried he might run the car off the road altogether and end up upside down in a ditch; it takes all his concentration to keep going in a straight line.

_…I gave him exactly what he deserved…_

Cas. He needs to get to Cas. His father’s vile words, hissed out like a viper, echo in his ears and he shakes his head desperately, trying to clear it. It's incomprehensible, what Sam has suggested. He should have defended his father, stood up for him, should instinctively known that his father would _never_ harm Cas. But he didn't - he can't. As soon as the words had left Sam’s lips, his blood had run cold and he _knew_. He knew Sam wasn't off base. Knew he wasn't lying. Knew John was capable of such an act. His father has always been a loose canon. Always acted on impulse, and has never hesitates to turn to violence to get what he wants, or to get the job done. Castiel crossing his path has been a critical error, and one Dean should have handled immediately. But he thought, he genuinely thought, things were all right between them. They hardly talk, he thinks savagely. They never really interact, it's all grumpy pouts and cold glares, and eventually one of them will leave the room if the tension gets too high. But he never thought, never _imagined_ John would go to such lengths as violence to try and subdue Cas, to try and force him away from the boys. And not only violence, but sexual violence. Dean swallows a mouthful of bile. Sam had mentioned bites and scratches on Cas’ perfect skin, and so God help him if he goes to Cas and finds those marks there, he will turn around and go straight back to that bar and tear into his father.

Cas is family.

John is supposed to be family; but what is he really to Dean? The guy has so many black marks on his record it almost obscures the good he's done. He raised them half-heartedly, leaving all the grunt work to Dean while he went out to fight the bad guys. Left Dean to wipe Sam’s tears, to feed him the last bowl of Lucky Charms that he had been saving for himself because he hadn't had any, left him to make sure Sammy’s homework was done and that he went to school with clean clothes. Where had John been? What had family meant to him then? His family had been there, waiting for him, while he chased revenge. Cas knows what family is. Cas has been there no matter what, and Dean has no doubt that he always will be. If he can stop the angel leaving.

He floors it again, suddenly desperate to get to Cas. He has no idea what state Sam left him in because his brother’s story had been so short and clipped, but he knows what Cas is like. He wouldn't put it past him to vanish into the ether, and stay away for weeks or months on end. He _has_ to catch Castiel before he makes a mistake like that - because it would be exactly that: a huge mistake. Of what Sam thinks is true, then Cas is going to need the support of his family. And that means Sam and Dean.

The tyres screech as Dean pulls into the garage, dumping Baby unceremoniously somewhere near her designated space, and is inside the bunker and hot-footing it down the corridor to Cas’ room in less time that he would have thought humanly possible. He's about to barge straight in, his hand is on the door knob and turning, when he thinks better of it. He doesn't want to freak Cas out any more than he already will be. But the innate need to be with his angel is so overpowering that it almost chokes him. He knocks and, receiving no answer, turns the handle and shuffles into the dim room.

“Cas?”

The sheets on the bed are crumpled and tossed back, as though someone has been asleep or curled up under them but has got up in a hurry. Cas is nowhere to be seen.

Panic erupts through Dean as though he's been speared with a poisoned lance. He spins around and calls Castiel’s name, then again as he makes his way down the corridor, pushing open bedroom doors one by one. Cas isn't in his room, Sam’s room, and he definitely isn't in John’s room - not that Dean has any reason to think he _would_ be. Then he hears it: the low rushing sound of the shower coming from the bathrooms and, almost in a trance, he follows it and pushes the door open.

A cloud of steam obscures his vision for a moment, but when it clears Dean can clearly see the angel standing in one of the stalls under spray that must be far too hot if the temperature and condensation in the room is anything to go by. Cas is stripped bare, his skin perfect and unmarked, and as Dean squints to focus his eyes a little better, he sees Cas bracing himself on the wall with one shaking forearm. The other hand is covering his face, and Dean is in no doubt that the angel is crying.


	10. Chapter 10

Dean is still a little drunk. It must be the explanation as to why he does what he does next. He toes off his boots, shrugs off his leather jacket and slings it to one side, then walks fully-dressed into the shower behind Cas. He approaches the angel slowly, reaching out to touch him on the shoulder, but Castiel must sense his presence because he turns with an awful, haunted look of desperation in his eyes and Dean wants to cry for him. The water is hot enough to scald, and he reaches behind Cas to turn the temperature down to a more manageable level; the angel’s skin is red and raw in places, and Dean resists the urge to touch him.

That is, until Cas opens his mouth, and the words that come out are so painful to hear that Dean can't stop himself from reaching for his friend.

“Dean… whatever Sam told you… I'm so sorry, nothing happened, it's just a misunderstanding. Your dad… he didn't… he would never… I'm so sorry, Dean, it's all my fault, I'm sorry…”

Dean shakes his head slowly and takes a step forward. Cas’ hands come up, palm out, as though expecting to defend himself and his eyes fill with tears again. His obvious fear breaks Dean’s heart. He steps forward and slowly slides his arms around Cas’ waist, pulling him in close, and the angel goes willingly, melting into Dean and burying his face in his shoulder, as bitter, broken sobs tear through his body. Dean can do nothing but stand under the water, arms full of wet, naked, devastated angel, and rock him gently while whispering words of comfort into his hair.

The water slowly starts to run cold, and Cas starts to shiver. Dean’s wet clothes are clinging to him uncomfortably, and it's a definite sign that it's time to get out. He rubs the angel’s arms where gooseflesh has already started to rise on his skin, and goes to snag a towel, wrapping it round Castiel and dragging him out to to sit down on a chair by the sink.

“Gimme a sec,” He mutters, and tries not to notice the angel’s eyes following his every movement as he strips his wet clothes off and dumps them in a heap in the corner. He’ll deal with them later. He wraps a towel around his waist, grabs another and dries his hair roughly, handing it to Cas and gesturing for him to do the same. The angel’s movements are jerky and wooden, and he won’t meet Dean’s eyes.

“C’mon. It’s cold, we need to get into some warm clothes.”

Cas follows him obediently down the hall - after Dean has poked his head out to check that the coast is clear, but when he stops to go into his room Dean takes his arm with a shake of his head.

“I’ve got clothes you can borrow that will be much more comfortable than that suit of yours. We should probably take you shopping one of these days.” It’s an attempt to reassure the angel, convince Cas that Dean isn’t angry with him and that he isn’t being asked to leave. Cas just shrugs, staring at his bare feet.

“I have everything I need, Dean. You don’t need to trouble yourself.”

“Yes.” Dean responds firmly, opening the door to his own room and ushering Cas inside. “I do. Here, put these on. Everyone needs a pair of sweats in their life, and I haven’t worn these in forever. You can have them. And this t-shirt.”

They change in silence, neither meeting the other’s eyes, until finally Dean settles on the edge of the bed and reaches out a hand to Cas.

“Sit down. Please. We gotta talk about this shit, Cas. But you gotta know, I’m not mad at you. You haven’t done anything wrong. You believe me?”

Cas nods jerkily, and takes a seat next to Dean, ramrod stiff with his hands twisted together so tightly that it looks painful. Dean takes a breath, then reaches over to untangle them, linking his fingers with Cas’.

“Why the fuck didn’t you tell me, man?”

And with that, Cas knows that Dean knows it all. Knows Sam has told him what he saw, and the deductions he made. He opens his mouth to argue, to tell Dean he’s wrong and that it’s all just a giant misunderstanding, but something stops him. Dean sounds angry, furious even, but not at him, and that stumps Cas. Why did Dean embrace him in the shower just now, instead of throwing him out? He doesn’t know how events played out between the brother’s, how the conversation went, but he was sure that if Sam had gone to Dean with his story then the Winchesters would be storming in, dragging Cas from his room and throwing him out. It hasn’t happened yet, so…?

“I… I didn’t have anything to tell, Dean.” Cas says carefully, feeling the words stick in his throat. “You didn’t need to know-“

“Dammit, Cas, are you serious?” Dean grips his own hair, eyes wide and shocked. “I didn’t need to know that my own father had rap- assaulted you? You didn’t think that was relevant information?”

“No, Dean. I didn’t want to risk losing you over this, I was… dealing with it. On my own. You have so much to think about, so much on your shoulders, and you have a special bond with your father. You’ve only just got him back, and-“

“And I wish he had never come!” The words are spat out, and Cas recoils, shocked.

“Dean! _Don’t_ say that, he’s your _father_ …”

“And a fine example he is!” Dean gets up and paces the room, clearly distressed, and Cas has no idea what to do or say to calm him. “Why are you defending him? What has he done to have such a hold over you?”

“I… Dean, he hasn’t, he… I…”

“I should have decked him there and then.” Dean’s glower is mutinous, fists clenched at his sides, and he’s practically vibrating with fury. “As soon as I knew, I should have knocked him on his ass. Like he hasn’t done enough to deserve it before all this.”

“He… he knows?” Horror floods through Cas like a wave. It’s bad enough, the fact Sam and Dean are aware of what happened, but if John knows that the boys know… “Dean, please, _please_.” Cas grips the hunter’s sleeve and drags him across to sit back down next to him. “You can’t say anything to him, all right? Let me speak to him, let me sort this out-“

“No.” There’s no room for any argument at all. “You’re going nowhere near him, Cas. I’ll sort this out, the way I should have done the first day you met each other. He’s outstayed his fucking welcome, and I’ll be the one to tell him that.” The green eyes soften as he looks Cas over, a hand coming up again to trace his jawline. Cas swears he can see tears glistening there. “I’m so sorry, Castiel. You did _nothing_ to deserve his hate, and I should have stepped up. I should have paid more attention. You should never have been left to deal with this on your own.”

“It’s not your fault, my friend.” Cas takes his hand and, after a second’s hesitation, presses a brief kiss to his knuckles. “I should have been stronger. Or I should have given you all more space.”

“No, Cas, you aren’t getting it. None of this is your blame. You must believe me.” Dean leans forward until their foreheads are pressed together and they’re sharing a breath. “If anyone is to blame, it’s me. I was blinded by my dad as a kid, and I let it happen all over again. You shouldn’t have been sidelined. This should never have fucking happened. I’ll kill him for what he’s done to you.” A surge of emotion rises up in Dean again, and he clenches his fists tight to keep it at bay. Freaking out in front of Cas is not something that would help this situation one little bit. He needs to focus entirely on his angel, and deal with his own feelings in private.

“You should… think about this, Dean.” Cas’ voice is thick with unshed tears. “He’s your _father_. He’s family. I’m just… I’m…”

“Cas. There isn’t anything to think about here.” Dean shifts closer and, taking a chance, reaches up to brush a few strands of the angel’s hair off his face. “You’re family. You’re not ‘just’ anything. You’ve been there for me in ways he has never been, and I don’t have to think about this for a fucking second. Nobody, and I mean fucking _nobody_ , hurts you like this and gets away with it. Me and dad? We’re done. We are so fucking done; he and Sammy have been done for a long time so this is just the icing on the fucking cake. We probably should have been done a long time ago, and if we had then you’d never have been in this position. I’m sorry, Cas. I should have protected you…”

“No.” Cas’ hand comes up to grip Dean’s wrist, and the hunter’s hand somehow slides down to cup the angel’s jaw. “This isn’t on you. You didn’t know. I didn’t want you to _ever_ know, you should never have to make a choice like this.”

“He’s made this choice for me.” Dean’s voice is low and firm, shaking a little as a mix of emotions churn through him. He’s torn between getting up and storming out of the bunker to rip his father a new one, and leaning forward and capturing the angel’s mouth. He settles for wrapping an arm around Cas’ shoulders, relief flooding him as the angel leans into him and rests his head on his shoulder. “It’s over, Cas. I’m so sorry. It’s all over now. You mean so much to me, you know that? I hope you know. You, me, and Sam - we’re all we need. Team Free Will, remember?”

Cas doesn’t remember. He had been unconscious on a motel bed when Dean had first said the words, but he knows they must mean something special, and he sighs heavily, the unhappy ache in his chest slowly thawing, replaced by relief. Dean doesn’t hate him. Dean wants him to stay. And if he isn’t very much mistaken, there’s something in Dean’s eyes which portrays much more than friendship, but that’s something to explore much later. Cas feels raw, wrung-out and vulnerable, and Dean’s arm around him feels like a lifeline.Things might actually be OK.

Down the hallway, he can hear shouting. Sam and his father arguing intensely,evidently back from the bar, and Dean can make out the odd word or two. Mainly ‘Cas’, ‘angel’, ‘liar’ and ‘my sons’. Then, with a terrible clanging finality, a door slams and the sound echoes through the bunker. Cas shivers, and Dean holds him a little tighter.


	11. Chapter 11

John Winchester leaves the next day, and it’s nasty but Dean is prepared for it. He keeps Cas out of sight, knows he's lurking just outside the door when the conversation goes down, but is happy that he's not in John’s line of sight. He wouldn't put it past his father to try and go for Cas, get in a few last jabs and barbs to further tear down the angel’s already fragile self-worth. As he expected, John is bitter and vile, crowds into Dean’s personal space and speed threats and venom in his face. Sam has packed up his father’s things into an old duffel and chucked it down at the bottom of the steps, an expression of pure disdain twisting his face.

“I shoulda known that filthy angel would turn you. Take you from me. It’s _me_ you need, boy, not that _monster_. He's nothin’, boy, he's using you as a tool and you're too damn blind to see it.”

“No.” Dean grits out, using every ounce of self-control in the battle not to hit his father. Sam is near, watching. “He isn't. He’s a better man than you’ve ever been, and I should have seen that a long time ago. He’s family.”

“And what am I, the fucking next-door-neighbour?” John growls, and his breath reeks of booze. Dean cringes, but doesn’t back down. He’s always backed down in the past, and it’s happened for the last time.

“No. You’re a man who never knew what it meant to be a parent. If anyone ever used me, it was you. I was your soldier, not your son.” Dean surges forward, fisting a hand in his father’s jacket. “And you were my boss, not my father. So before you go talking shit about using people, think what you took from me. From Sam. And now from Cas.” He shoves him away and John stumbles back a step looking, for the first time in his life, chastised. “So you can go to hell. Because I have everything I need right here. I have the family I need.”

He turns to go, simmering with rage and trying to quell the trembling in his hands, and his gaze falls on a set of keys sitting on the table next to his phone. He swallows, hard, but the decision comes easily. He scoops them up, clenching his fist around them once more, then turns and tosses them at his father.

“Here. Take her. Take everything you ever gave me. I want you gone. I wanna forget you damn well existed.”

He turns back again to head for the corridor, to head for Cas who he’s sure he heard whine when Dean gave up the keys to Baby, but a rough hand grips his shoulder and spins him around, slamming him back into the wall.

“You walk away, boy, and we’re done. That creature can have you, can tear you apart for all I care.” John’s eyes are ice, boring into Dean’s. “You’ve fallen further than I ever thought you could. You were meant to be the son I was most proud of.” He sneers, and Dean tenses. “Instead you’re my biggest disappointment.”

In response, Dean does something he should have done years ago. He spits in John’s face.

*

“Cas?”

The angel is sitting on the edge of Dean’s bed holding, bizarrely, a bottle of beer and looking skittish and nervous. Dean pulls out the desk chair and sits down opposite him, watching him silently for a moment. Cas refuses to meet his eyes, instead seeming utterly focused on the bottle in his hands. Eventually, Dean leans forward and gestures to it.

“Thirsty?”

Cas shrugs with one shoulder. “It seems to help you when you're going through… stuff. I thought I'd give it a go.”

“And?”

“It tastes disgusting. I don't know why you touch it.” Cas’ wrinkled nose says it all, and there’s a spark of his old, caustic, irritated self in there. Dean laughs shakily, feeling a weight of sorts lift off his shoulders knowing that his father is out of their lives forever.

“How did it go?” Cas won’t meet his eyes, and Dean leans over and places a hand on his knee, not missing the way the angel’s eyes widen a little at the contact.

“You know how it went. I know you were listening.”

“To some of it. Most of it. But I had to leave, Dean, because the way he was talking to you… it made me want to rip his head off.” Cas raises sad blue eyes. “I’m sorry. I should have had your back and I walked away. It was cowardly.”

“You’re joking, right? Cas,” Dean slides off the chair and kneels in front of the angel, taking his beer and setting it aside. “Nothing you’ve done is cowardly. That was my battle to fight, not yours. I should have been the one fighting your corner, not the other way around. If you’d been there, he would have been worse.”

“He didn’t… hurt you, did he?” Nervous blue eyes meet his, and Dean squeezes his thigh in reassurance.

“No. He didn’t. I think he wanted to, but he knew when he was beaten. Especially when Sam stepped in and told him to go. Mouthed off about not staying somewhere he wasn’t wanted, and that was it. Cas, I’m glad he’s gone.”

“Don’t say that, Dean. He’s family.”

“No, Cas. He ain’t. He’s someone I should have kicked to the curb a long fucking time ago. Sam is family. Bobby was family. You are family.” He smiles gently as tentative fingers brush his hand, cupping his wrist, and Cas watches him warily. “You are all I’ll ever need.” He kind of means Cas and Sam. But he also kind of just means Cas. His fingers tighten a little on the angel’s thigh, and his eyes flick up to his lips. _No. Not the right time._

“You really mean that, don’t you?” Castiel is watching him with a strange look in his eyes. Calculating, piercing, intense in his usual manner but also so much more probing. Like he’s trying to read Dean’s mind without reaching out to touchhim. It should make him feel weird, knowing that Cas could see his innermost thoughts with just the touch of a fingertip, but it doesn’t because all he can think is _I want him to know how I feel._ He tries to convey it with soft words, and a squeeze to Cas’ leg. Maybe it could be the right time?

“Hell yeah, Cas. All I need, and all I want.”

He doesn’t mean to kiss Cas. It just sort of happens. Maybe Cas kissed him, but he isn’t sure and it doesn’t fucking matter. All that matters is that when he looked up, reached up to touch Cas’ cheek and leaned forward to whisper some empty words of comfort, he suddenly found that the blue eyes were looking at him differently, and that Cas’ grip on his wrist is firmer. Then, in a sudden surge of energy, their mouths come together and they’re kissing, hot and needy and emotionally-charged. It should have been gentle, if anything, but it isn’t. Cas kisses like he’s starving for air and Dean is his only salvation; he’s a bit clumsy, but at the first tentative touch of a tongue to his lips, Dean whines and lets Cas in, allows him to explore his mouth and pull him closer. Cas tastes earthy and faintly of the beer he’s been tackling, and Dean’s hand winds into his hair to gently hold him in place. He’s sure he feels Cas sob into his mouth, and that’s when he pulls back, stroking the angel’s cheek and cupping his jaw.

“You sure about this?” His own voice is alien to his ears, hoarse and raspy. Cas nods, shifting to make room for him on the bed, and they lie down together, exploring each other’s eyes and touching everywhere. Cas strokes his fingers down his spine, winds a hand into his hair, and presses their lips together so perfectly that Dean is sure he could die right now, in the arms of his angel, and be a happy man.

“How long?” He whispers against Cas’ mouth, and the angel shrugs. They’re fully clothed, and the heat has dissipated to leave behind an intimate glow, one which shows no signs of ebbing away. When Cas answers, his blue eyes shine a little with unshed tears, but his smile is like starlight.

“Always.”


	12. Epilogue

Dean never sees his father again. Their paths never cross, and they never seek each other out. Dean deals with it privately, and feels much less guilty than he ever thought he would. The man sealed his own fate when he attacked Cas. Cas, who he loves more than his own life, and who he would cross oceans for. The angel who fell for him, and who was always there to lift Dean up when he’s down.

Sam speaks to him everyone once in a while with details of hunts or advice about the lore, or bumps into him in the towns they visit when checking out hunts. He deliberately never tells Dean when John is nearby, not wanting to disturb his brother and his angel. He knows Dean is done, and opening up old wounds would help nobody. He never tells his father anything about the three of them, and soon the phone calls tail off. Sam feels like a shadow that has been present his whole life has finally melted away.

Cas moves on, but it takes a while. He still holds himself stiffly, tense when he’s alone in the bunker and it’s too quiet, and it takes a few weeks before he can look at himself in the mirror properly. Dean and Sam are there for him, and eventually the haunted look in his eyes ebbs away, and the irritable, sweet, permanently puzzled angel is back to his old self.

John moves from town to town, hunting occasionally, and drinking too much, getting into brawls and landing himself in jail more times than he can count. Dean never answers his phone when he calls him from the police station, and eventually he gives up trying. He totals Baby one night after too much whiskey, and doesn’t bother to restore her. A few months pass, and he winds up tangled up with some British hunters with smart clothes, smooth accents and too much money. One night, he goes out to meet them and never comes back.

Cas and Dean take things slowly. Years of burning want simmers constantly below the surface, but Cas is nervous and shy, and Dean refuses to rush things. They've got time. They don’t do much beyond holding hands and making out for the longest time, but eventually, in the back of Cas’ ugly Lincoln Continental, they make love for the first time and Dean swears he sees stars. He lies in the afterglow with his fallen angel’s arms around him, a warm smile at his lips, and for the first time in as long as he can remember, he feels like he’s home.

His only regret is that he never got to kiss Cas in the Impala. But they make up for it by kissing everywhere else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who stuck with this! It was originally only meant to be a couple of chapters, but my muse ran away with me. As always, the comments and kudos mean the world to me <3
> 
> PS. Who else is freaking the hell out about the season finale?!

**Author's Note:**

> Customary tumblr plug: <http://coffeeandcas.tumblr.com>. Got a fluffy/angsty Destiel prompt? Send it to me and I'll do my best to fill it!


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